The Famous LoNdon Naked Bike Race

When I ask my friends to accompany me to cemetery they follow my lead, trying to convince me not to disturb the sleepers. So this time I was returning the favor by following them to the event they always wanted witness, “World Naked Bike Ride”. Seeing my nephew running without his underpants screaming and watching a man ride a cycle with his dangling bells is two different things. One is cute and another, well you know…. Fully clothed, I was way too shy to see the nude with my naked eyes.

People around me said bikers are protesting against vulnerability of cyclist and dependency on the car. I am sure nobody wants to know the reason when protesters are naked.

Bikers packed their clothes without a second thought , naked but they were dressed for their journey. Male and female, tender and aged flesh exposed to the London’s dark clouds and thousands of spectators. Bike riders didn’t flinch when cameras were flashed at their face sorry correction anywhere but face. Shy and hesitant, I was somewhere lost thinking about their courage.

Blame it on my countries culture where we are abide to live by society rules what we eat society decides, what we wear society decides, where to sleep society decides, when to marry freaking society tells. But that day I saw people who didn’t give two fucks about society, they did what they pleased them.

“Its human body after all, What is there to be shy”, after gripping my slipping courage I stood on the ground witnessing spectacular the event.

After waiting for hours for the naked riders in the Wellington Park ,finishing line; watching guy kiss his girlfriend in front of her mother, girls sitting on their boyfriends lap to escape from the wet grass, mother changing her daughter nappy, Big Bass flying with energetic London visitors I was cursing my fate sitting on the wet grass. When the riders finally showed up their tired but smiling face people welcomed them clapping their hands and encouraging them, it was like a soldier coming home after victorious war. They weren’t shy they were proud , their face shown like brand new silver spoon displayed in jewelry shop. There was this guy, one and only one guy with 6 packs, who posed next to the sculptor like a professional, all cameras went click click I hit my head with frustration. My phone long dead I was heartbroken on my misfortune. He sang , he played saxophone, every little thing he did he did it in a style without a single stitch of cloth on his body. If Johannes Vermeer was alive he would have got stroke looking at courage of this man and his mind blowing posture